


No Matter How Many Deaths That I Die

by quietborderline



Category: Generation Kill, Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-14 14:34:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1270084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietborderline/pseuds/quietborderline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically just a revamp of Pacific Rim with the characters of Generation Kill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this idea dug it's way into my brain and wouldn't let up until it was written....
> 
> Overall I was slightly disappointed by the film Pacific Rim, but I thought the concept was absolutely fascinating. I decided to play around with that story and world using other characters very dear to my heart. I've obviously changed some things around a bit, but it's really just a recast/re-imagining of Pacific Rim using the characters from Generation Kill. This is also the first thing I have written (or even read) in the Pacific Rim fandom, so please forgive any liberties taken or mistakes made on my part.
> 
> No real spoilers for Generation Kill. LOTS of spoilers for the movie Pacific Rim as well as some other canonish things, like the prequel comic or anything else that can be found on the [Pacific Rim Wikia Page](http://pacificrim.wikia.com/wiki/Pacific_Rim_Wiki). Seriously, thank god for that resource...
> 
> I think it will be about 10 chapters, but could fall anywhere in the 8-12 range.
> 
> Many thanks and ALL the awards to the most amazing beta and friend a fangirl could ask for, [cosmogyral-mad-woman](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmogyral_mad_woman). This literally would not be happening without her. =) You are my rock, my inspiration, you keep me sane and I love you dearly. <3
> 
> Any remaining mistakes are solely my own fault. Also, the title comes from the song "Hurricane" by Thirty Seconds to Mars.

**2013 – Kaiju War: Year Zero**  
 **Twelve Years Ago**

Lucky is not exactly the word one would use to describe Brad Colbert.

When Brad was only fifteen months old, his family's car was hit by a drunk driver. Both his parents and his two older sisters were killed almost instantly. Brad, and the drunk, were the only survivors.

After that, he was adopted by close friends of his family, Robert and Patricia Kocher, who treated him as though he were their own from the moment they brought him into their home. They also had a biological son, Eric, who was exactly the same age as Brad. As time went on, the two of them grew to be inseparable. Their closeness became a sort of running family joke. Brad and Eric shared the same dreams, the same values, the same ambitions. They shared the same penchant for getting into trouble, but they also shared a knack for getting out of it again... 

Brad and Eric are sixteen when the first Kaiju attack destroys San Francisco. In a matter of hours, their home, their family... everyone and everything they ever knew or loved is gone. And for the second time in his life, Brad finds himself among the only survivors.

This time, he swears vengeance.

Everything happens rather quickly from that point on. The second attack comes only six months later, in the Philippines. The next in Cabo San Lucas, just four months after that. They realize pretty soon after the fourth attack that something has to change. For the first time, the entire world sets aside all their petty grievances and begins working toward a solution. They finally find one in the Jaeger program. 

In the years before, Brad and Eric had always planned to join the Marines. Now, all the traditional military forces are pretty much obsolete. The world is finally at peace; they have one greater, common enemy. So instead, when Eric and Brad turn eighteen they join the PPDC. And suddenly, the intense bond the two of them have always shared serves a purpose.

Brad and Eric, it turns out, are drift compatible.

They find they share a knack for this as well; the two of them rise quickly to the top of each of their training groups, excelling at every task placed before them. The stronger the bond between pilots, the better they can fight, and Brad and Eric's bond goes deep. It isn't long before they're promoted to Rangers and assigned their own Jaeger, Gipsy Danger. They get stationed at the Shatterdome in Alaska, The Icebox. Eventually, they get a few kills under their belt. They become pretty popular with the public, as well, and for a while they live like rock stars.

But it would only be a matter of time before Brad's luck runs out, again.

**2020 – Kaiju War: Year Seven**  
 **Five Years Ago**

Eric is woken by the piercing noise and bright lights suddenly emanating from the computer screen in their bunk. _Kaiju,_ his groggy brain eventually processes, and then he is up and moving in an instant. “Brad,” he calls distractedly. It is always warm in their bunk and Eric slept in only his boxers, so he listens to the report as he quickly pulls on his pants and tee shirt. 

Category III. 8700 metric tons...

_The biggest on record to date,_ Eric thinks. 

Code name: Knifehead.

“Brad! Hey!” When he still gets no response, Eric reaches out and smacks the part of Brad's impossibly long leg that's sticking out from under the blankets. “Wake up, dipshit. We're being deployed.”

There is silence for exactly thirty seconds, then, “Fifty-six minutes. It's two in the fucking morning, and I've only been asleep for fifty-six minutes.”

Eric shakes his head and laughs. Adrenaline is already beginning to course through his veins, and he feels a bit giddy with it. “Yeah, well. Kaiju don't care about your sleep patterns, Bradley. Not the Kaiju's fault you were out partying all night, is it?”

Brad sits up, throwing the blankets off and leveling Eric with a glare. “What's the point in dealing with all of this celebrity bullshit if you can't enjoy the benefits once in a while?” His voice is sleep rough and deadpan but laced with amusement, and he hops off the bunk, dressing quickly. “Cat III?” He's only vaguely listening to the report still blaring from the monitor. He trusts that Eric will already have all the information they need.

“Biggest yet,” says Eric, equal parts excitement and apprehension.

Brad looks up from where he is now hunched over, lacing up his boots. He meets Eric's gaze and holds it for a moment, a lifetime of emotions passing between them, effortlessly and unspoken, in a matter of seconds. No fucking Kaiju will ever touch these shores again. Not on their watch.

Brad straightens slowly, the corner of his mouth quirking up in the beginnings of a smirk. "Ready to add number five to the list?"

"You're damn fucking right I am," comes the reply, and Brad can hear his own fierce determination echoed in Eric's voice. His smirk grows. 

“Better stay frosty, then.”

A moment later Espera knocks on their door, signaling that it's time for the drop.

\- - - - - - - -

Four and a half days later Brad wakes up in a hospital bed, covered in sensors and monitors, a vague sort of panic gripping his heart. He struggles to get up and out, not even sure where he thinks he's going or why, just knowing that he has to get away. But the doctor and nurses are there in an instant, pushing him back down to the bed, fussing over him, talking about things like possible brain trauma and drug induced comas...

Brad relaxes back against the pillows as reality starts to come back to him in little drips and drabs. His memory of the last few days is hazy at best, and seems to come and go like waves. Images flash in his mind, but more often than not are gone again before he can look at them too closely. The doctors tell him they are confident that with time he will make a full recovery, and his memories will return. Brad's not sure he wants them to.

There are two things he does remember; two things he knows with absolute, bone-crushing certainty:

They had killed that motherfucking Kaiju.

But, Eric was gone. And despite the fact that Brad could still feel him, the little whispers of his consciousness that remained as an after effect of years in the drift together, he knew Eric wouldn't be coming back.

The next few months crawl by at a snail's pace, or at least it seems so for Brad. Nothing more than an endless monotony of neurological screenings, physical therapy for his arm, blood work and other testing. Somewhat regretfully, the doctor's are correct; Brad's memory does return to normal, and before long he is able to recall the entire epic disaster in vivid detail.

Brad spends all his time until the day he is cleared for discharge replaying the events in his mind, moment by moment. He tries to decide when and if there was something he could have done, some way to change the outcome, to have him be the one who died instead of Eric.

He can't understand why he is always the one who survives.

\- - - - - - - -

The morning after he is released, Brad is waiting outside of Marshal Ferrando's office when the man arrives.

Brad had heard a lot of things while he wasted away in the hospital. Too many awkward glances and tiny snippets of conversation, which always seemed to come to a convenient and abrupt end whenever he came into view. He has a feeling he knows what's behind it all.

He wants to find out the truth for himself.

"What can I do for you, Mister Colbert?" the older man rasps after Brad follows him into his office, closing the door behind them. The Marshal takes a seat behind his desk and Brad follows suit, sitting in one of the chairs positioned across from him.

"You can put me back in a Jaeger," Brad replies, seeing no reason to beat around the bush.

Godfather sighs, his face taking on an almost pained expression. "That's not going to happen, Brad."

Brad's jaw tenses, his eyes narrowing in anger. "Why the fuck not?"

"Well, for one thing, who are we going to put you in with?"

Brad only deflates for a moment. When his anger returns, it burns even hotter. "How the fuck should I know? That's your job. I'm sure you could find someone, I hear you're finding our replacements just fine."

"Even if we could--" Godfather begins, but Brad cuts him off. "I'll pilot the fucking thing myself, I don't care. That's how I got home, isn't it?" Brad knows the stupidity of what he's saying even as the words fall out of his mouth, but the thought of never piloting again...

That seems to spark something in the Marshal, though; his eyes flash with anger of his own, and something else Brad can't quite name, his gravelly voice rising to match Brad's. "And do you have any idea how goddamn lucky you were to make it back?" There is a considerable pause before he continues, his voice resuming it's normal volume. "Even if we could find someone else, the stress you put on your nervous system... it's too dangerous to let you go back out there."

"Fuck that. I could handle it, we both know I could. The doctors said--" 

"You also disobeyed a direct order," Godfather interrupts, "and it got one of you killed. I can't have people disobeying orders in combat."

Brad scowls, the urge to punch the other man in the face is so strong he has to dig his fingernails roughly into his own palms to tamper it down. "Respectfully, _sir_ , we also saved the lives of twenty innocent fishermen, not to mention everyone on the coast. Eric's..." Brad swallows, trying to control the wave of emotions brought on by thoughts of his brother. He takes a deep breath before he continues. "It didn't have a damn thing to do with your orders. That Kaiju was different than any of the others we've seen. It adapted to our techniques, it's like it knew--"

"Thanks for your input, Ranger, but we have plenty of qualified scientists who can handle the examining of the Kaiju." 

Brad takes another deep, steadying breath. He can feel his jaw clenching and unclenching, and when he speaks his voice is pure ice. "So, what then? I get to go retire to some government shelter somewhere..."

"Don't be ridiculous, Brad. Of course not. Your skills and experience can still be put to good use. We're prepared to offer you a less strenuous position within the Defense Corps. Training, or perhaps--"

"I'm a fucking warrior. Not some glorified babysitter." Brad stands, grabbing his bomber jacket and shrugging into it as he makes his way toward the door. "Fuck you, and fuck this place. You'll see I'm right. And when you come asking for help, I'm gonna tell you to kiss my ass."

With that, Brad walks out of the Shatterdome and never looks back.


	2. Chapter 2

The day Brad walks out on the PPDC he takes nothing but his backpack, the few photos and other personal items he had in his bunk, and his Yamaha R1. He gets on his bike and heads south, wanting to put as much distance between himself and all the memory and emotion as possible, as though they are things he can actually out run.

He does take a sort of comfort in the speed and solitude, the rush of adrenaline as he races down the highways, only stopping when he thinks he might collapse from exhaustion. After several days, he finds himself back home, in California, and figures it's as good a place to stop as any.

Brad picks up odd jobs here and there where he can. Mostly, he ends up working construction on the Wall of Life, the UN's alternative to the Jaeger program. Brad finds the whole idea inherently laughable but, unfortunately, he's not exactly faced with a plethora of options.

Over the next few years, just as Brad had predicted, the Kaiju threat begins to evolve. Category IV Kaiju start coming through the breach, and with more frequency than ever before. Jaegers start losing the fight more often than they win.

Brad watches it all from a distance. He strives to keep himself detached from the news reports and his own gossiping peers. The entire Defense Corps can go down in flames, for all Brad cares.

At least, that is what he tries to tell himself.

**2025 – Kaiju War: Year Twelve**  
**Present Day**

Brad pauses in his work for a moment to wipe the sweat off his forehead with the back of his left hand. The muscles in his arm start to tense up, and Brad lets loose a string of curses under his breath. He shakes his arm out, flexing his fingers and his elbow, then rolling his shoulder a few times. After a moment, the pain dissipates, but Brad's sour mood does not.

He's been up on the wall for hours, both his head and his back are aching, and now his arm is starting to give out as well. Brad figures he should at least be glad he'll be eating tonight.

Sighing, he looks out past all the steel beams and construction equipment to the coast. Over the years he had moved back north, with the wall, mostly out of necessity. He's not even sure where they are now, somewhere around the U.S./Canadian border, maybe. He stopped keeping track long ago. He spends most of his time on the wall, anyway, and from out here everything looks pretty much the same.

Brad wonders what things will look like when they finally lose this war.

He is about to return to his work, but the alarm sounds, signaling the changing of shifts, and Brad sighs with relief. He gives one last look at the view, the only upside to working the top of the wall, before making his way back down to the base.

Brad is just turning away from the counter after picking up his ration card when the foreman walks up to him, his expression a mixture of annoyance and curiosity. “Colbert. There's someone here to see you,” he says, then leads Brad to his small office in the back where, to Brad's surprise, Marshal Ferrando is waiting.

The three stand in awkward silence for a long moment. Then, Godfather clears his throat and turns to the foreman. “If you could give us a moment...” he says, letting the request trail off and linger in the air between them. The man opens his mouth as if to speak, looking as though he'd like to point out that this is in fact his office, but in the end he just nods silently.

“Mister Colbert,” Godfather says, extending a hand to Brad after the other man leaves, closing the door on his way out. “Good to see you. It's been, what... five years?”

“And four months.” Brad looks at the Marshal's hand, thinks for a second about not shaking it, but does anyway. “Took you long enough.” When he pulls his hand back again, he has to fight the urge to cross his arms in front of his chest, opting to lean casually against the door frame instead. Despite his cocky words, the only thought currently running through his mind is _why the fuck are you here?_ over and over again.

Brad refuses to let himself hope it might be for the reason he'd like.

Godfather simply watches Brad for a few moments. Whether he's sizing him up or just stalling for time, Brad can't tell. Brad stands still as a statue, his face stoic. Finally, the older man sighs, and says, “They've decommissioned the Jaeger program. We'll have a few more months of funding, after that they'll be putting it all into the Coastal Wall project.”

Brad snorts, and can't help rolling his eyes. “Cause that's been such a great investment so far,” he says, nodding toward the television in the corner that has been replaying the broadcast of the Kaiju attack on Sydney since the events that morning. The one where the Kaiju broke right through their unbreakable wall in under an hour.

Godfather's lips twitch in an almost-smile, but his tone remains serious. “Jaegers haven't exactly been faring much better lately. I'm sure you've heard on the news. The Kaiju are only getting bigger, stronger, faster. They're adapting--”

“Something I believe I tried to tell you five years ago,” Brad interrupts, straightening up as he does so. “The shots we got off on that son of a bitch should have killed it. Instead it cut right through our fucking hull, like we were made out of paper. Like that's what it was _made to do._ ” He scrubs a hand through his hair and huffs out a sound that slightly resembles a laugh, shaking his head. “You know, I always thought the Kaiju code names were ridiculous. Knifehead, though. That one turned out to be remarkably accurate...”

Godfather chooses to ignore Brad's little tirade.

“We've transferred all remaining Jaegers to the Shatterdome in Hong Kong, it's the only station still active.”

But Brad's had just about enough of the small talk. “That's... great, and all, I guess. For you. But just cut the bullshit and tell me, what the fuck does any of this have to do with me?” He meets Godfather's gaze and holds it, demanding an answer with his eyes.

“Take a walk with me,” is the only answer he gets before the other man is moving around him, opening the office door, and Brad has no choice but to get out of the way. He follows Marshal Ferrando out of the office and through the chaos of the construction site's headquarters. “I've spent the last few months salvaging whatever I could from Oblivion Bay,” Godfather says as they walk. “One in particular I thought might catch your interest. She's a pretty old Jaeger. Only the second Mark-3 ever built, in fact. Spent a good chunk of our funding fixing her up again. It'd be a shame to see all that hard work go to waste.”

By the time Godfather's done talking, they are standing at the main doors leading out of the site. Several yards away waits a helicopter, surrounded by a squad of PPDC soldiers. Brad stares at it for a moment, then glances at the Marshal, who is looking back at him like a man who knows he just won an argument Brad didn't even realize they were having. Brad grins in spite of himself.

“How'd you know I wouldn't tell you fuck off?”

“Because I know you, Mister Colbert,” Godfather replies, without hesitation. “And you were right, you're not a babysitter. You're sure as hell not a construction worker. You're a warrior. And a warrior belongs in combat.” He reaches out and claps Brad on the shoulder. “So. Whenever you're ready, we can get the hell out of this shit hole.”

“I thought you said it was too dangerous,” Brad can't help but throw out there.

“I thought you said you could handle it.”

There's a short pause before Godfather adds, with a grin, “Besides, we don't have a choice. You're the only Mark-3 pilot still alive.”

Godfather turns to walk out to the helicopter, but Brad's voice stops him short. “Marshal, hold on.” Brad pauses, taking a moment to laugh at his own pathetic predictability. “Okay, so you know I'm in, but... if they shut you down, then what the hell do you need me for in the first place? I'm guessing you have some kind of plan...”

In that moment, Marshal Ferrando graces Brad with a rare, secretive smile. “Oh yes, Mister Colbert. We have a plan.”


	3. Chapter 3

“So, let me get this straight,” Brad says after he steps off the helicopter, with Marshal Ferrando following closely behind him. They had spent the entire flight from California to the Shatterdome in Hong Kong discussing the current state of the PPDC, as well as The Plan and what Brad's role would be. “There are only four operational Jaegers left in the entire Defense Corps? How could they let things get that bad?”

“We've lost twenty-six Jaegers in the last few years. The Kaiju kept taking them out faster than we could build them. There were fourteen attacks just last year alone, and the UN no longer sees our program as a viable option. We're the Resistance, now, Mister Colbert.”

Not for the first time, Brad rolls his eyes at the staggering stupidity of the people responsible for running, as it happened, the entire world.

“And you're going to strap one with a nuke and blow the breach to hell,” Brad continues thoughtfully. He considers it all for a moment. “How do you plan to actually get through? It's not like we've never tried to hit the breach before. What's so different now?”

Godfather looks as though he's about to answer, but he notices someone walking up to them from the corner of his eye. “Don't worry about that right now,” he says instead, “just make sure you're ready when we need you.” Then, he turns to greet the newcomer with a smile. “Brad, I'd like you to meet Nathaniel Fick. He's in charge of the Mark-3 Restoration Project, and is personally seeing to your co-pilot selection.”

Brad turns to see bright, blueish-green eyes, a brilliant smile, and a hand extending toward him. “Mister Colbert, It's a pleasure to finally meet you,” the man is saying. “Please, call me Nate.”

Brad stares blankly for a half second, but then shakes himself out of his stupor and takes Nate's offered hand. “Brad,” he replies, simple and professional, though he can't help but take note of how strikingly gorgeous this man is. If they were meeting under any other circumstances, Brad might definitely try his luck with this one, Nathaniel Fick...

As it is, there are much more important matters at hand, and Brad reigns in his focus just in time to hear Godfather speaking again. “Nate's one of our brightest,” he says, something like pride briefly crossing the Marshal's face. “So don't worry, Brad. You'll be in good hands.”

 _I'm sure I will_ , Brad can't help thinking.

A moment later, one of the other soldiers walks over and whispers something in the Marshal's ear. Godfather nods. “Tell them I'll be right there,” he rasps, and the man gives an automatic “yes, sir” before walking away again. “Sorry, if you gentlemen will excuse me... Nate, why don't you give Brad a tour of the facility and then show him to the barracks. Brad, tomorrow at 0800 you'll be meeting your candidates in the Combat Room. So get some food, and get some rest.” With that, he walks off, leaving the two of them alone.

Brad watches him go for a moment, then turns back to Nate, who just smiles and says “Whenever you're ready.” Brad nods, and the two make their way across the flight deck to one of the elevators.

“I've been studying you, you know,” Nate says out of nowhere, catching Brad off guard. Brad's eyes widen slightly and he looks over at him, one eyebrow raised in question. Nate blushes, and hurries to elaborate. “I mean, your fighting. Your techniques, your habits and abilities. To help choose candidates for your co-pilot.”

“Oh, sure--” Brad starts, his tone skeptical, but his thought is cut off when two others join them in the elevator.

“Yeah, just bring it all in here,” one of them is saying to a group of men who are in the process of moving several giant tanks, which seem to be filled with various Kaiju parts, onto the elevator. “Careful with that!” he exclaims when one of the tanks bumps into the wall. “This stuff isn't exactly cheap, or easy to get your hands on, you know. Jesus, do I have to do everything myself?”

Once it is all loaded on, the elevator begins it's descent. They ride for several moments in silence until one of the men, the one who had been snapping out orders, finally looks over at them. “Hey,” he says suddenly, taking a step closer, “Aren't you Brad Colbert?”

Brad simply nods, and that small gesture sets off a tidal wave. “Holy shit, homes. I can't believe it, it's such an honor to meet you. I'm a real admirer of your work.” Brad blinks, his brow creasing in confusion, but the guy just keeps going. “I'm Ray, Ray Person. And this,” he says, indicating the blond man that had entered with him, “is Walt. Holy shit, Brad Colbert. You're like one of the legends. The way you and your brother took out...” Ray's brain finally seems to catch up to his mouth, and his voice trails off. “Fuck, I'm sorry.”

“Please, just ignore him, Mr. Colbert,” Walt says, walking over to stand next to Ray and pinning the man man with a glare. “He means well. He's just a bit of a Jaeger fly...”

“I'm not a groupie. I'm a fucking doctor,” Ray says, matter-of-factly.

Walt shoots him a skeptical look. "You practically worship the Kaiju."

“I don't worship them, I study them. There's a big difference. And, I'll have you know, that without my research we wouldn't be on the verge of such an important break through--”

“Doctor Person and Doctor Hasser make up our Research Division,” Nate interrupts, for Brad's benefit.

Brad shakes his head slightly, looking back at the two in disbelief; neither of them look old enough to be much out of high school, let alone two scientists heading up one of the most important operations in human history.

Ray opens his mouth to start talking again just as the elevator finally comes to a stop. The doors open, and then he is shouting orders instead as all his precious specimens are unloaded once more. He turns back to Brad, looking fairly conflicted, and sighs. “I wish I could stay and chat, but, you know. Duty calls. It was really great meeting you, hope to see you around,” he says quickly, and then rushes to catch up with the others.

Brad blinks, and looks back at Nate. “That's your Research Division?”

Nate laughs as they both step out of the elevator. “Believe it or not, they really are quite brilliant.”

\- - - - - - - -

Nate spends about thirty minutes showing Brad around the Shatterdome, and for the first time Brad truly sees just how dire things have become; the place is a mere shadow of what he remembers from Anchorage and the old days of the program. They pass the other three Jaegers, and Nate rattles off random facts and tidbits about each one and their respective crews. Yet, Brad finds himself paying more attention to Nate than the tour itself. None of this information is particularly vital to the mission, anyway. Brad already learned most of what he needed from Godfather on the way here. But Nate seems to take such joy in sharing what he knows, and Brad doesn't have the heart to stop him. He follows Nate around, watching and listening. Every so often, their eyes lock, and Brad thinks he can see something mirrored there that makes a warmth spread within him. But each time, Nate looks away and the moment is shattered.

Eventually, they come to a set of double doors, and Nate turns to him with a smile. He doesn't say anything, but he pulls open one of the doors and holds it, allowing Brad to go in first. What he sees when he walks through the doors takes Brad's breath away.

He walks out to the edge of the platform, a small, peaceful smile on his face. “Gipsy Danger,” he says, and he can't quite keep the awe out of his voice. “God, I missed her. She's even more beautiful than I remember.” Which, to be fair, isn't all that difficult considering the last time Brad saw the Jaeger, it was missing an arm and half of the hull. “Just like new.” Brad's not sure he's ever seen anything so magnificent in his life.

“Better than,” Nate adds softly.

“What upgrades did you make on her?”

“Well...” Nate flips quickly through his notes, then shakes his head. “I'm actually not sure of _all_ the specifications, but if you have questions I can find the technician in charge...” Nate looks up, and his attention gets caught by something just over Brad's shoulder. “Actually, he's right--”

“Everybody watch out, Iceman on deck.”

Brad recognizes that voice instantly and he turns, a huge grin splitting his face. “Jesus fucking Christ. Poke? Is that you?” He wraps his long arms around his old friend, slapping him hard on the back, and Espera does the same. “What the hell are you doing still kicking around with these degenerates?” Brad asks as he steps back. His grin remains firmly in place.

Espera just shrugs casually, his own smirk a much more restrained version of Brad's. “Well someone had to take care of your girl for you while you were gone, didn't they?”

Brad nods, briefly glancing back up at the now new and improved Jaeger he thought he'd never see again. He's suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude. But, it certainly wouldn't do to have Espera know that outright, even though Brad's pretty sure it's written all over his face. “Figured you'd be sick of fighting the white man's war by now.”

Espera turns to Nate and shakes his head, letting out a dramatic and put-upon sigh. “You see this? This is the thanks I get. We haul Gipsy's busted ass out of that graveyard and spend eight months fixing her up so this son-of-a-bitch can help save the goddamn world. And he calls me a degenerate. A traitor to my people.” Nate has the decency to look equal parts horrified and confused. Espera just winks at Brad and grins, continuing. “This is everybody's war, Iceman. Kaiju ain't a bunch of racist, bigot motherfuckers like you. They don't discriminate like that.”

Nate shakes his head, opening his mouth to speak, but Brad reaches out and grabs him by the shoulder, turning him around. “Just ignore him,” Brad says to Nate with a small laugh, “Poke's kind of an acquired taste.” He looks back at Espera as he and Nate continue toward the barracks. “I'm too tired for your shit, Tony. I'll see you later. Try not to harass the entire base with your nonsensical sectarian drivel.”

“Yeah, good to see you too, dawg,” Espera calls out just as Brad and Nate turn the corner.

“So you know him, then?” Nate asks, though it isn't exactly phrased like a question. He's smiling, but it's clear that he's still a bit unsure as to what just transpired.

Laughing, Brad nods. “Unfortunately I do. He was a tech up in Alaska for quite a few years. Tony, Eric, and I used to get into all kinds of trouble together...”

“Is that why he calls you Iceman?” Nate asks with a grin. Brad nods, rolling his eyes. “He's certainly never spoken like that around me before.”

“Yeah, well... sometimes with Poke, the acquired taste thing goes both ways.” Brad smiles at Nate's look of slight embarrassment and confusion. _This guy is too easy_ , he thinks. It makes Brad curious. “So, what's your situation anyway?” he asks as Nate leads him down a narrow hallway and up to one of the doors, which presumably leads to Brad's room.

“Sorry?” Nate replies, sliding the key in and opening the door, leading Brad inside.

Brad steps in, looks around, and nods satisfactorily. He drops his backpack on the floor in the corner, then turns back to Nate. “I mean, what exactly do you do here? No offense, but so far your job description seems to basically revolve around me.”

Nate doesn't answer, but his cheeks turn a slight shade of pink. Brad grins. “You know, showing me around. Fixing my Jaeger. Finding my co-pilot. _Studying me?_ It might start to go to my head, if I were the type of person to let it.” At this point Nate looks like he'd love nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow him whole, so Brad decides to let him off the hook. “You a pilot?” he asks, changing the subject.

Nate takes a breath, seemingly grateful for the shift in the conversation, and shakes his head. “No,” he says with an air of longing, “I wish, but no.”

Brad sits down on the bed and starts unlacing his boots, but keeps his eyes on Nate. “Well, have you been through the Jaeger Academy?” When Nate nods, Brad asks, “What was your simulator score?”

A bit of color returns to Nate's cheeks. “51 drops, 51 kills,” he states simply.

Both of Brad's eyebrows shoot straight up. “And you're not a pilot?” Brad pulls off one of his boots, then the other, before scooting back on the bed slightly to lean against the wall. “Why the hell not? Godfather himself said you were 'one of our brightest' didn't he?”

Nate nods. “Yeah. Well. He also said I'm reckless and I have a disregard for authority.” He pauses briefly, then adds with a grin, “He once told me I reminded him of you.”

Brad snorts a laugh, and shakes his head. After a moment, he says, “So he won't let you in a Jaeger because you remind him too much of me.” Brad pauses. “And yet, he flew all the way to California to get me back into one.”

It's Nate's turn to laugh. “Yeah, I guess he did.”

“Doesn't seem very logical. Maybe he should reconsider.” Brad watches the other man carefully. Something about Nate gets under his skin, wiggles it's way past his usual defenses, although he couldn't tell you exactly what it was even if you put a gun to his head.

There is a long moment of awkward silence, then Nate clears his throat. “Well, anyway, you should do as he says and get some rest.” Brad stands and follows Nate as the other man makes his way toward the door. “If you're hungry,” Nate continues, “just go out here and turn right. Mess Hall is straight down and to the left, all the way at the end.”

Brad opens the door, nodding his thanks, and Nate steps out. “It was good to meet you, Brad. I'm glad you're on board. See you tomorrow.”

“Same to you,” Brad says, watching as Nate smiles, then walks directly across the corridor to what is apparently his own room. Brad watches him until Nate closes his door, then does the same before walking back across the room and collapsing face first onto his bed.


End file.
